


House of soaring knives

by AnyoneButHim



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 06:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13141122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnyoneButHim/pseuds/AnyoneButHim
Summary: Happy holidays to 0dannyphantom0. Here's your assassin's creed fic!Disclaimer: I know nothing about assassin's creed





	House of soaring knives

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas Daniel. Hope this fits. I know nothing about assassin's creed so its really just a regular assassins story. Sorry if it's not dark or angst-y enough.....

Kirk couldn’t remember a time before this life. Before the act of killing was something as mundane as watching paint dry. When he was younger he got a thrill from watching his victims take their last shuddering breath in front of him. There was something about killing that he couldn’t compare to anything else. Back when he was younger that was a good thing, it separated this part of his life from his daytime occupation of a simple shop owner. Now the two parts of his life were bleeding together, merging into an ugly mutant that would grow disfigured and then crumble into dust. His life would then simply blow away with the wind. 

A regular costumer had asked about the large cut on his face this morning. The grisly red gash stretched from his forehead to his opposite cheek, peppered with the black of a hurried stitch he had done himself. It would heal with time.

Kirk had noticed that people would shy away from him when passing him in the bustling street. They would risk a glance to satisfy their curiosity before their features would twist into the familiar expression of disgust. As he walked past they would edge away and before his feet the crowd would part, dashing to the side while hiding their eyes from his unsightliness. This would clearly not do. His entire life was constructed to blend into the shadows and appear ordinary. While the wound would heal it would leave a nasty scar and that messed with his carefully fabricated existence. If he couldn’t walk down a street without being noticed how could he possibly tail a target? 

Word would soon spread back to his stepfather of his disfigurement and then he would be fucked. Without the income of his ‘extracurricular activities’ he would have a lot of difficulty finding food. If worst came to worst he might have to go back to whoring – not something he wanted to do.

After the third person had spat on him that day he decided that enough was enough. Kirk would have to see a doctor. During a lull of customers, he flipped his open sign and slipped into the back to grab a hooded cloak and then shut the door behind him. Kirk wasn’t worried about losing money from his little bakery. While the shop was a cover it didn’t stop the rumours about him sneaking out at dusk to rob high society citizens and slit their throats in their sleep. People knew to stay away from James Kirk. They said he was “far too charming to just be a baker,” and that he must have something up his sleeves. The rumours were pretty far from the truth but that suited Kirk just fine. He still got enough business for the government to see his steady income as reputable. 

Pulling the hood so that it partially shadowed his face Kirk walked at a fast pace to the east of town where all the sawbones resided. Within an hour kirk had arrived at the doorstep of what he considered his best bet. Within four hours every decent doctor had turned him down (and so had a few none decent ones too). Kirk simply didn’t have enough gold to pay for a decent sewing up. 

Everyone knows that the esteemed House of Sailing Knives assassins were paid handsomely. What they didn’t know was that if you were the step son of the new leader then he would take a large cut of everything you earned. Kirk knew he was the finest assassin the world had ever seen and so did the brothers of the House but his step father was a cruel son of a bitch. 

Kirk rarely drank alcohol. It was against the rules of the House. But as he suspected he would be kicked out as soon as word reaches the others he figured it was worth having a nice drink before he disappeared from the face of the known world. His mind was decided for him when he past the Jester, a public house he and his mother had frequented often together when she was alive. Before she married a pig and he was welcomed into what was essentially a gang of teenagers who insisted on wearing black and occasionally murdered people for pay. 

Just as Kirk was about to open the door to the tavern when a man was thrown out of it and went barrelling straight into him. They both were sent tumbling to the floor in a heap.  
Peeling the drunkard, who was now giggling, off of his body Kirk stood up. He brushed his clothes down. There was a sudden gasp from in front of him and he realized that in the disarray his hood had slipped. Kirk snapped it back into position and turned away, already rethinking his decision when a voice called out.

“Hey! he didn’t pay for his drink!” 

Kirk turned in time to see the drunkard had scrambled to his feet and was beginning to skip away. Kirk caught up to him quickly, grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and pulled him back to the Jester’s open door. Kirk lifted him up by his clothes and dug a hand in his pockets. He tossed out the silver necklaces he found inside. Letting the blubbering man go , kirk turned wordlessly away before a heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder.

“Thanks. That’s far more than he drank. Let me give you a drink in return” said the barkeep. He was a broad man yet was soft around the edges. A giant huggable grizzly bear.  
Never one to turn down a free drink Kirk turned fully and gave a sharp nod. 

When he was sat down with a whiskey Kirk felt better. He had barely had his first sip before a hand was thrust in his face.   
“Leonard McCoy. Nice thing you did there.” Mumbled a soft voice.   
Kirk shook the extended hand. He said nothing.  
“Terrible job you did with that stitching there” said McCoy. Kirk didn’t even look up.   
“I drink here a lot and Peter here is a good friend of mine. That whiskey is piss watered down so if you want something a bit more for your good deeds then I could fix that face of yours”  
“That would be far more than those necklaces are worth. Don’t bother.” Kirk said, speaking finally.  
“Well I’m relatively new in down and all those other doctors are in cahoots. I’ll never break into the business unless I have good references. And James Kirk, seller of the best bread in the known world, would make a beautiful reference.” McCoy drawled.  
Kirk downed his whiskey in one. “You know where to find me then.”  
Kirk left silently.  
By the time his step father heard about Kirk’s face being slashed he was half way healed.


End file.
